What Life Left Behind
by Rinkinkirs
Summary: He knows the taint has already reached him. It’s in the air he inhales, and now it has spread through his blood, contaminating his heart, twisting him with a cackle of glee. Sirius-centric.


Grimmauld Place is a dark house, filled with shadows and secrets. Nothing can change that, and he knows better than most. It's been ripping his mind apart ever since he arrived, and though they are tearing the house apart in an effort to clean it up a bit, he knows the taint has already reached him. It's in the air he inhales, and now it has spread through his blood, contaminating his heart, twisting him with a cackle of glee that none of the others seem to hear, and he knows he'll be falling off the deep end unless the war ends soon.

He can feel it even as Harry smiles at him, even as Remus tries to comfort him with old stories of James and Lily and the little baby that somehow skipped eleven years in his absence. He can feel it as Dumbledore stares him down, easily slipping in through mental barriers constructed by a young man and destroyed by soulless creatures, and he knows that his taint is revealed, the long shadows in his mind growing and growing until they are shouting at him when he wakes up, when he listens to Remus stories, when he falls asleep.

Only Harry can make it shut up.

When Harry slips into his room, wakened by his restless sleep, the voices crawl back from the light Harry unknowingly carries. Harry is not a beacon of hope, but of memories, happiness and love, all the things the soulless creatures took from him. He hates himself for loving Harry like he does.

He knows that he never grew up, though he figures it's not his fault, as spending a decade mentally tortured does that to a person. When Snape snipes at him, he wonders whether their fates were all that different, after all; Snape has his own personal Azkaban these days, and he strides there on his own two feet, bowing again and again to a creature he despises more than anyone else, even Harry.

He has a grudging respect for the bitter man, though he'd die before admitting it.

When Snape snipes at Harry, he becomes Snivellius again. He can't help it; arguing with Snape is familiar, almost a comfort in this even more familiar but disgusting house. He hates this house. Hates it hates it _hates it_.

He hates himself for loving Harry the way he does. He loves James and Lily's son, he loves his godson, he loves _remembering_, but he can't love him for being Harry. Perhaps the soulless creatures destroyed him too much, incapable of maturing like Remus has done, and even Snape, but he loves the things Harry represents, even if they are only memories.

He doesn't know what Harry thinks of as Harry wraps his arms around him and lets him rest his head on Harry's chest, as he sobs himself to sleep and wakes up alone again before the sun is up.

He stays in bed till noon anyway.

And then Harry is back at school again, and the flicker of light has left him, and the shadows grow longer as his mind grows darker. He knows that Remus is worried, but he has always been quite the actor. When he wakes up, he puts up his mask before leaving the room, and he doesn't let go until he can fall apart at night, no Harry there to hold him. The fragile stability Harry has left him with is waning, and Remus, though a wonderful friend, cannot ignite the hope he needs so much.

His chest hurts. There is a spider in there, crawling around and spinning webs of darkness.

And then Harry has rushed off to find him, and his entire body aches with the thought that Harry cares so much that he has gone to save him. He feels terrible knowing that he isn't running to save his godson, but his embodied memories.

Bellatrix's eyes follow him through the darkness.

There's fog around him. It's grey, and heavy, but it burns away the taint, and as the shadows smoulder and crinkle like paper, he sends a tiny prayer for Harry – to be forgiven for not loving him.

* * *

_Maybe it was you or maybe it was me?  
But there was a chord in you I could not find to strike  
You lying there with all the light in your hair like a Jesus of the Moon  
A Jesus of the planets and the stars_

(Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, _Jesus of the Moon_)

* * *

**Disclaimers**: neither _Harry Potter_ nor _Jesus of the Moon_ belongs to me.**  
Notes**: I'm not sure I've written a fanfic without a pairing before. There was supposed to be one, but it didn't want to have one, so I relented. Though if you squint…


End file.
